


Another Lost Piece

by Shuufleur



Series: Spideyhunter [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Identity Reveal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuufleur/pseuds/Shuufleur
Summary: When death keeps piling on.





	Another Lost Piece

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a repost of the fanfic.   
> Minor changes, nothing important.
> 
> Spoiler on who dies in the end notes. ;)

“Hey, Spidey! Don't you want to see your dearest alive?” The Green Goblin cackled, his board whirring above Spider-Man. Heart thumping in his ribcage, the superhero looked up. Even though nobody could read his face with his mask on, everyone besides him – the Avengers, the New Yorkers, the Goblin – could almost feel the despair and anger rolling off Peter. From the corner of his eye, Peter saw his team getting worried. They didn't know who was Spider-Man without his mask but Peter told them he had an aunt. Peter knew that if the Green Goblin did really kidnap someone he cared about, the Avengers wouldn't let it pass.

And Peter needed to know if it was true. If the Goblin...

“Goblin!” Spider-Man gritted out. “Stop trying to distract me. You're doing it again. Really, your methods are bad, it's not even a good villain tactics, man.”

The Goblin whirled and laughed some more.

“Oh, you don't believe me. I'm sure you want to know. Well. Follow me, and you'll find him.”

The Goblin's mask had his eternal smile on. Peter couldn't see his face but he could perfectly imagine his smug smile.

Peter just hoped...

“We'll see if you're fast enough, Spidey. If you can swing fast enough, you might save him. Who knows. Hopefully, this won't be another Gwen for you kiddo!”

Oh god, Sam.

Please, no.

The Goblin laughed merrily and took off just in time to avoid Captain America's shield and an arrow of Hawkeye. Peter turned toward Cap, anxious of might be at the end of the way. He saw the Goblin stopping to watch back. He was obviously waiting for Peter.

“Cap, I...” Spider-Man started, almost hesitant.

“Go. Find him. Keep us posted if you can.” Cap smiled slightly under his helmet.

Peter didn't feel like saying anything back so he shot out a web and started to swing after the Goblin. He didn't even care if he was followed. Peter was sure that Cap made someone follow his trail. He didn't care. He just needed to find him. It was a trap, Peter knew it. But, he also knew he had to follow the Green Goblin. The villain always kept his promises before.

Every few miles, the Goblin stopped to see if Peter was still following. And every time his laugh traveled with the wind, echoing in Peter's ears. Rage, fear, emptiness were bumping inside him, crashing and overwhelming him.

Peter shook his head. Damn it, focus, Peter! Now was not the time to break down. Sam needed you. And you needed him.

Finally, the Goblin stopped. How not original was he: he landed in the docks.

“Seriously, Goblin. The _docks_? Don't you want to be a little more original than that? I'm already tired of this.” Spider-Man quipped, trying to sound sure of himself. To joke. To pretend his heart wasn't already breaking, missing a piece.

So many pieces lost already.

Peter saw the Goblin smile.

“Death doesn't care about originality. But I guess... the fall from the tower was quite impressive. This must seem so boring now.”

Peter clenched his fist, ready to shot a web at the villain's head just to shut him up. The Goblin tilted his head on the side as if pensive, “This time, though, I gave you a little gift.” He paused, dramatic. “The time to say good-bye. It's better than nothing. Enjoy while you can, Spidey. Ha.”

With a wave, the Goblin took off and said before leaving, “It's better than last time, isn't it?”

He cackled once more and disappeared into the sky. Peter didn't even want to chase him. The Avengers would take care of him now. Peter had to find Sam.

Spider-man started his search: first building, nothing. Second, still nothing.

No sound: no grunts of pain, no call for help, no labored breathing. Silence. Perfect silence except for the water.

At last, Peter entered the last building. It was no different than the others. Still and silent. But when he shot his web at a door, opening the door in his anger, he saw Sam in the room. Boxes and machinery were stocked there. Spider webs all over them. It was abandoned. Peter surveyed the room. No trap. No trip wire. No mines, or bombs that can be triggered at a distance. There was nothing. Just Sam and Peter.

Peter allowed himself to focus on Sam then. He was sitting in a chair, strapped down at the waist, his feet and hands tied. Peter couldn't see his face. Sam had his head leaning forward and his hair hid his face. He walked slowly, carefully as if he was scared to wake up Sam. Or to make it real.

Then it hit him. Blood, he could smell it. Peter blinked, trying to chase the smell away. And the thoughts. Don't think, Peter, do!

And he walked. Forced himselft to take one step at a time.

When he arrived in front of Sam, Peter reached out. He was shaking, fingers trembling, grasping on air. Peter made a fist and closed his eyes.

Inhale. Exhale. Steady. Breathe, Peter, breathe.

Asthma attack, not a good idea, Peter.

Spider-Man opened his eyes, unclenched his fist and touched Sam's hair. He moved the hair back with both hands. To see, just to see.

Hear.

Peter let a wet laugh out.

Breathing. Sam was breathing. It was shallow and irregular but he was breathing.

“Oh, Sam...” Peter knelt in front of the other man and took his face in his hands. Slowly, he raised Sam's head. He had nothing on his face. No bruises, no cuts. It was as if he was sleeping.

Sam's eyelids fluttered and opened on dazed eyes, dilated pupil. Sam frowned, trying to focus on Spider-Man.

“Wh't... what...” he tried to say.

“Shhh, Sam, don't talk. It's me. Peter.”

Sam kept his frown. At that moment, he reminded him of Cap. Thinking and frowning.

“Pete'?”

“Wait, wait. I'll remove my mask.”

As soon as he threw his mask on the ground, Peter cupped Sam's face again with his hands.

“Hey, Sammy.” Peter smiled. Sam's gaze focused on Peter. A few seconds passed, and then, Sam returned the smile. It was such a sweet, sweet smile.

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes.

“Come on, I'll untie you.”

He let go slowly of Sam’s face. Then he started with the hands, barely touching the bruised wrists. He kissed each of Sam's palm. Then he untied his feet and his waist.

“Can you get up?” Peter asked.

Sam could hardly move his arms alone.

“D'n't thin' so, Pete.”

“Ok, it's okay. You'll sit and I'll wait with you. Help is on its way.”

Sam smiled and it seemed like he wanted to touch Peter because he tried to move his hand. Fruitless. He had no strength in him anymore.

Peter took his hand and pressed.

He couldn't stop the tears running down now.

“Pete. It's alright. It's alright. It was time. It _is_ time.” Sam said and no, no, no. It wasn't.

“It's not,” Peter replied stubbornly, still crying.

Sam looked at Peter and lost his smile.

“I'm glad I met you, Peter.”

The young man closed his eyes, let his head fall on Sam’s thighs.

“No. Don't be glad. You're... it's my fault. It's the Goblin's, it's...”

Sam shushed him. Peter hiccuped.

Footsteps. Hawkeye's.

“I shouldn't be alive, Peter. It's more than I could ever wish for.”

“No, Sam. You're wrong. You should live. If I could take your place, I would. In a heartbeat. You hear, Sam?”

Hawkeye just entered the room. He stopped at the door. Peter could see his boots from the corner of his eye.

“You hear, Sam?”

Silence.

Peter took a shaky breath and raised his head. His grip on Sam's hand tightened and with his other hand he checked Sam's pulse. To be sure. To be absolutely sure. To prove that his senses were failing him.

They weren't.

Sam was dead. And it was his fault. Someone died because of him. Again.

Even with Hawkeye in the room, Peter didn't try to stifle his cries. He cried until he couldn't breathe anymore.

Hawkeye put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

A slight press of fingers on a buttin, statics, a voice saying “we were too late”.

Peter broke down. He didn't even care that the Avengers and SHIELD knew his identity.

Sam was dead.

 

**

Days passed. A funeral. Another for Peter. So many. Too many.

There wasn't a lot of people. Sam didn't have any family. They were all dead, he said. He was alone, he said. And then he would smile and laugh and kiss Peter. Aunt May was at the funeral: she liked Sam. She thought of him as a second son. She spoiled him with her cooking. He made repairs to the house. Always with a smile, always sad. The Avengers came as well. They didn't know him but they came for Spider-Man or Peter. Or both.

And then, there was Peter.

Alone.

 

**

Days passed. Weeks. Months.

A phone call. Sam's phone. Peter didn't even remember he left his phone in Peter's room. His throat closed from the emotion. Nostalgia and pain. Peter sometimes wondered if time could still heal the same wounds over and over again.

Peter answered, “Hello?”

“Sam?”

Peter lost his voice.

 

**

When the man opened the cabin's door, the first words he told Peter were, “Who the hell are you? And where is Sam?”

Peter couldn't talk. It was as if he swallowed a ball and it stuck in his throat. The man with green eyes frowned. He had an angry twist at his lips and dark eyes, so old and hurt.

“Hm. I- I knew Sam. Sam's... Sam's not here. Not...” Peter finally uttered.

The frown went deeper.

“ _Knew_?” the man repeated, suddenly clenching the door. Peter gulped and nodded. The man looked up and mouthed something. It almost seemed like he was praying. He looked back at Peter, his face blank.

He asked, sharp, “When?”

“A few months ago.”

The man briefly closed his eyes.

“How was he...” He gestured in the air as if he didn't want to say the word. Peter didn't blame him. Words always made things real. Words are definite.

“We, hm, buried him.”

The man seemed to think then, he nodded.

“Leave. Leave me alone now.”

Peter gave him the address cemetery. He didn't thank the young man.

Just before the green-eyed man closed it, Peter glimpsed his shattered expression, his anguish like he was wearing a mask on his face.

The door closed and Peter stood there. He heard a crash and curses.

After a few minutes of silence,

(but he could hear the hitched breath, the “no” repeated endlessly, and “Sam, Sam, Sam. Cas.”, and finally the sobs)

he left.

**

A few days later, someone dug up the grave and burned the body.

**Author's Note:**

> Sam dies.


End file.
